


this is me trying

by farfarawaygirl



Series: Give it Time [2]
Category: Chicago Fire
Genre: F/M, Friends to more, Mouch is here - just chilling, Slow Burn, a what if fic, did I mention slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:47:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28566426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farfarawaygirl/pseuds/farfarawaygirl
Summary: “I’m fine!” She preemptively calls out, holding out a hand to keep space between them. “Totally fine. He clipped my passenger side bumper, but it looks like he bent the axel.”“Was he drunk? Did he lose control?” Casey is getting closer, ignores her hand and touches her face, tilting it up to look at him.It’s the first time they’ve touched in a month.Casey then does something that is simultaneously a great relief, and incredibly painful; he sinks a hand into the hair at the back of her neck. The contact makes Sylvie want to cry a little. Makes her want to lean into him. But, she can’t. Instead she turns her head and moves away.The look on Casey’s face doesn’t make sense to her. He’s hurt. He’s relieved. He’s angry. He’s scared.A little voice in her head reminds her, ‘he’s not yours.’
Relationships: Sylvie Brett/Matthew Casey
Series: Give it Time [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2090436
Comments: 45
Kudos: 112





	this is me trying

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is part 2 of my Give it Time Series, somewhat overlapping possibilities that exist between Sylvie and Matt. 
> 
> In this time before the new episode airs, I was inspired with the ways we are all speculating and dreaming of how things will go.
> 
> Also? I unabashedly love Eric Whaley.

Sylvie sits in the golden twilight of her living room and just feels it for a moment. Just lets her emotions run amok. She’s not crying, but it’s close. Closer than she’s comfortable with; she can’t be the girl who cries over a guy she never really had. Is never going to have. 

It is that thought, the ‘is never going to have’, that settles abruptly behind her sternum and burns. 

If this almost, but not really, breakup had happened in a world without Covid she would have called Stella and Emily and demanded a night out. But, in keeping with the 2020 vibes, it’s the middle of a pandemic, and Stella lives with Matt, while Emily is even now cramming for a Med School Exam. All of her friends have partners, or careers, or kids and a purpose, and all Sylvie has is herself. And, as it turns out, all she is, is a fucking idiot.

No. Wait. 

She is Sylvie Brett and she is not an idiot! She put space and distance between them because she didn’t want to make Matt uncomfortable. He was the one who had shown up at her apartment. Who had asked her what was wrong. 

Okay, she kissed him, but he kissed her back! Matt had kissed her back. He had been the one to push them inside, he had been the one to remove his coat and her sweater. He had picked her up. 

Sylvie felt a flash of white hot rage pass through her. Matt had been the one to lay her down on the fucking couch. Seriously, this stupid fucking couch. 

And what was worse, was he had done it all without knowing his own feelings about Gabby. 

Screw him. 

That was a dick move. 

Sylvie got off her couch and walked into her kitchen. She had moved right past embarrassment, and heartache and was settled on righteous indignation. The fact that he was a co-worker limited her number of people to call and decompress. 

Olivia. She could call Olivia. 

Olivia answered on the third ring. 

Proving Olivia was the right person to call, Olivia spent twenty solid minutes listening, and interjecting with disbelief and insults. It helped immensely. When Olivia had to go, Sylvie felt marginally better. 

Matt would just have to go back in the co-worker box. She could do it. She had done it before, with Joe, and now he was her valued friend. Something told Sylvie that outcome would not be possible with Matt. 

“I’m better off knowing.” Her voice echoed in her apartment, and just for a moment Sylvie felt really, really alone. There wasn’t someone to call now if she was freaked out about an open door, or to help her hang shelves in the bathroom. Everyone she loved in Chicago was a part of something; a half of a couple. 

There is a certain kind of loneliness that Sylvie was getting used to. The third wheel loneliness. She had watched her high school friends get married, then her college friends, and now she was watching her Chicago family get married, find partners, move on. Watching them move on. Do things she wanted to do. 

Start families. 

When she had told Foster that her job as paramedic was one she had chosen, that it wasn’t a back up plan, she hadn’t been prepared for how lonely that might be. Sylvie picked up her cardigan, and made sure the door was locked. Turning off lights, she made her way to her bedroom. 

After she had washed her face and changed into a pair of her comfiest pyjamas, Sylvie took a moment and closed her eyes. She could do this. Go to work, be the best damn teacher Mackey ever had, and forget that for one golden moment Matt Casey had almost been hers. 

-

Back when Hope was her best friend, before Harrison had been her steady boyfriend, the two of them had made a break up plan. It was silly, but it worked in that it always distracted Sylvie enough that she could keep moving. 

1 - make a kickass burnt CD

Using Gallo and Ritter as a shield Sylvie did just that, well, the 2020 version. A Spotify playlist. It was her second shift back since the accident, the morning after Casey had shown up at her apartment. Sitting at the smaller round table with her headphones on, coffee in one hand, Sylvie built her playlist. 

1a - give said playlist a pithy name

Sylvie considered this one, half listening to Gallo talk to Ritter. She wanted something that wasn’t a dead give away, in the ninth grade when Hope had broken up with Brent Carson she had written in black sharpie on the burned CD, BRENT IS A DICK. To the point.

Finally Sylvie selected, “I won’t be your doormat”, she left off the second t. She added ‘Me & My Dog’, a Phoebe Bridgers classic, selecting the green download button. She paid for premium for a reason. Offline and no adds. There was no one to justify her purchases to. 

“What’s happening over here?” Cruz asked sitting down, Sylvie shrugged. “Are you okay?”

“You know me Joe, I’m always fine.”

His eyes crinkled in concern, trying to avoid any awkward questions Sylvie pushed to her feet. “Mackey, let’s take our coffee’s to the rig. Make sure you know how our house organizes things.”

Giana nodded, moving to follow Sylvie. Not a moment too soon, Casey was standing in the doorway, his hands in his pockets. 

Sylvie sent his shoulder a tight smile, moving past him quickly. And just like that, it was over. She had survived their first meeting. It could only get easier from here. 

Mackey was a quick study, between the two of them, even with the coffee, they sorted and completed inventory in record time. Sylvie took the time to ask about the calls Mackey was used to. Her old house was quieter, but she had seen her fair share of intubations and was comfortable with following Brett’s lead. 

“Hey,” Sylvie asked, “what songs are you listening to right now?”

Before their first call came in she had added three songs to her playlist. 

It was almost dinner by the time they got a break on Ambo, Brett felt Mackey and her were settling into a rhythm. Truthfully, she felt hopeful about it. She’d take the win. 

Kidd caught her eye from over by the fridge, there was a loaded question there, one Sylvie was not going to tackle at work. Instead she bit her lip, shook her head and raised her shoulder. Stella understood, but the compassion in her eyes made Sylvie squirm. Turning to move to the briefing room, Sylvie plowed right into Severide. 

“Easy killer.” 

“Sorry.”

He squinted at her a little, the memory of when she unloaded to him about Harrison and the broken engagement popped into her head. 

“Should I ask if you’re okay?”

Maybe Severide remembered it too. Sylvie shook her head, “I’m not going to give you more than you bargained for.”

“Well, I’m here. Or whatever.”

Sylvie laughed. It burst forth from her, a bright bubble of mirth. “Or whatever.”

“Hey!” Severide called, reaching out to swipe at her, but Sylvie ducked and exited, the sound of Kelly’s chuckle following her. 

Olivia had texted her.

Olivia [3:53pm]: what if I set you up with a former fire fighter I know?

Sylvie [5:21pm]: how do you know him?

Olivia [5:21pm]: he works with my boyfriend. He left the CFD about three years ago after an accident. He runs triathlons, likes cinnamon buns, and works with Brian as an electrician. 

Sylvie [5:22pm]: what’s his name?

Olivia [5:23pm]: Eric Whaley. Do your recon, and let me know if I should set it up. 

-

After the kickass playlist, the break up plan was simple. 

2 - eat something chocolate with every meal for two whole days. 

Sylvie had dug into her secret firehouse chocolate stash, pulling out a pack of year old mini eggs. She’d had them with her dinner. Gallo’s less than world famous sloppy joes. And, no, she hadn’t shared. 

When shift was coming to an end, that calm cool stretch between 6am and 8am, Sylvie decided to work her recon. 

“Do you know an Eric Whaley?”

Stella was in the common room, a workbook of fire drills in front of her. Distracted she looked up at Sylvie. “No. I don’t think so.” Before Sylvie could telegraph her need for discretion, Kidd called out to Severide who was standing at the coffee pot with Casey. “Hey, Kelly, do you know an Eric Whaley?”

“Whaley?”

Sylvie pulled a face at Stella who seems to suddenly understand her need for secrecy. 

“Yeah,” Kidd stalled, “his name came up.”

“Weren’t you engaged to his sister?” Casey mused. 

“Britany had a brother?” Sylvie asked, confused. 

“No,” Stella shook her head, “that was his wife. Was she the girl who thought she was having your baby?”

“Different Renee.” Severide smiled at Stella, his eyes laughing.

Kidd knocked her wrist. Turning back towards her friend, Sylvie tried to smile. 

Severide seemed a little suspicious, “how does a retired CFD Lieutenant come up in conversation?”

“He was a Lieutenant?” Everyone turned a little to look at Sylvie. 

“Squad 5, injured in a water rescue. I think he works construction now. His dad owned an outfit.”

Sylvie spoke without thinking, “he’s an electrician.” She felt Matt’s gaze on her neck, tugged on her sleeves to relieve the pressure. 

The bells go off, Truck 81. It’s just Severide and Brett in the common room, the tv switched to a news station a low hum behind them. 

“Seriously? Are you okay?”

Sylvie looks over at Severide, she wants to lie. Wants to tell him she’s fine, but the words don’t come. Instead, she finds herself shaking her head. “No. I’m not.”

Kelly sighs. “What did he do?”

What Severide said a few days ago about Shay seems to ring in her ears. “I guess he remembered whose shadow I was walking in.”

Sylvie sees the moment Severide understand what she’s saying, she uses that moment to make her exit. 

She is really tired of shadows being cast. 

-

Olivia invites her over for a backyard BBQ, Sylvie bundles up. It’s November in Chicago, and while there is no snow, she wakes up to frost most mornings. She picks warm, thick, cable knits, and fleece lined jeans tucked into her favourite heeled boots. Grabs a scarf and mittens to go with her blue puffy coat. 

Honestly Sylvie is a little worried about what life will look like when it does snow. When outdoor meet up become even more scarce. She’s alone, without a roommate for the first time in years, and that feels a little sad these days. The space is nice. She loves her apartment, it’s just quiet. Too much room for thinking. 

Brian is out back manning the grill when she pushes through the gate. He has a beer in one hand and tongs in the other, when he sees her he raises the tongs, clicking them together. 

“Sylvie!” He calls out, making an announcers voice. 

She waves, turning to shut the gate, but there’s someone there. Oh. This is a set up. 

“Hi. I’m Eric.”

“Sylvie.” She steps back from the gate, giving him room to come in and close it. 

Objectively he is very handsome. In a manly, sexy kind of way. He’s taller than her, and has warm brown eyes, and just the hint of scruff on his cheeks and neck. 

“I think,” he looks behind her, “this is a set up.”

“I agree.”

His grin instantly disarms her. “I don’t even know you, but I think I’m okay with it?” His sentence ends in a question. 

“You can fight fate, or Olivia.”

“Truer words.”

Brian is calling out to them, asking for drink orders and thoughts on BBQ sauce. They end up seated at a rickety round table in the deck, with Olivia and Brian, for the first time since she asked Matt to leave her apartment, Sylvie doesn’t think about him at all. 

-

Stage 3 of the break up plan calls for retail therapy. 

3 - buy something you really don’t need. 

Sylvie is scrolling through her email, looking for a coupon from La Vie En Rosé, when her phone rings. 

“Hey, Stella.”

“So what happened?”

“Stella.” Sylvie makes her name an extra long groan. “I can’t.”

“The reason I ask, is because the guys are in a funk, and I think it’s about you.”

“It’s not.”

Stella says her name slowly, like she is trying to be patient. “How do you know?”

“Because, I do.” Sylvie clicks on the email, and pulls up a two for one sale coupon. “I said something, then I avoided him, and then nothing happened. Like nothing ever happens.” She tries not to sound bitter. “Because he loves Gabby. And I’m not a place holder.”

“Sylvie. You’re were never a place holder.”

“Exactly. I’m not. End of story.”

“Okay. So what are you doing?”

“Shopping for lingerie.”

Stella gasps. “For your date with Eric Whaley?”

“No. For me.” That distinction seems important. “I need something to make me feel nice, and I have a coupon.”

“Well, if you have a coupon.”

Sylvie looks back at the screen. “Blue or red?”

“Blue.” Stella offers, and then quieter, “are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’d rather know.” It’s true. She would rather know that be stuck back in limbo. “I can’t believe I pined for him, for like a year. Ugh. I’m pathetic.”

“I think you’re brave.”

“Thanks, Stella.”

The line is quiet for a moment, but it is a comfortable silence.

“Does that mean you won’t come over to the loft anymore?”

Sylvie bites her lip. “For now. Yeah.” She selects check out, and types in her credit card info. “But, you can come here.”

“Want me to come over now?”

“Stop and get doughnuts. We deserve the sugar.”

-

It had to happen some time. After almost two weeks of successfully avoiding Casey, he walked right up to her as she wrote a report on the common room table and asked to speak to her. It would be churlish to refuse. They had interacted only minimally, at accident scenes, and in doorways, never really talking. Sylvie hadn’t even check the two voicemails he had left for her before she deleted them. His text messages were still unread. Kidd gave her a hopeful smile as she passed her, but everyone else seemed oblivious to the tension. Casey directed them to his quarters, Sylvie stood awkwardly in the door until he motioned for to come in further. 

Casey seemed perturbed at her reluctance, closing the door and standing in front of her. 

For a long moment they just stood there, looking at one an other. Casey had his hands on his hips, privately Sylvie thought he looked like an upset parent. She pulled her arms across her chest, protecting her heart. 

“I don’t understand what happened. But, I miss my friend.” 

Sylvie wished he had just left it alone. Anything would be better than to try and explain to him why she didn’t want to play second fiddle to Dawson. If he didn’t get it, he didn’t get it. 

“Okay.”

Casey scoffed. “Okay? You don’t talk to me for two weeks, and okay?”

“What do you want me to say? I wish I hadn’t done it.” Sylvie tried to pick her words carefully. “I wish you hadn’t come to my apartment. I wish I could take it all back.”

“I don’t understand why you’re pushing me away.” Casey was agitated, crossing his arms, then uncrossing them, his face furrowed. 

“I’m not pushing you away!” Sylvie spat back, Casey made this noise that she took to mean disbelief. It ruffled her. “I’m drawing a line. There’s a difference.”

“So, now you just making unilateral decisions?”

“What?” Sylvie asked, honestly perplexed. “We are here because I asked you a question, and your answer made some things really damn clear to me.”

“My feelings for you are real. Regardless of Gabby.”

Sylvie straightened her spine, softly she said, “There is no regardless of Gabby.” It felt done. Sylvie felt exhausted. She moved to step around him, but Casey reached for her waist. Stepping sideways Sylvie evaded him. “Please, Casey. Don’t make this harder on me.”

“Sylvie...” Casey tried, but she was already slipping from the room, heading for her locker, putting as much space as she could manage between them. 

She had thought just a few weeks ago, and for months before that, that Matt Casey was one of the people who understood her best. But, he didn’t know her at all; and she didn’t know him. Sinking down onto the wooden bench in front of her locker, Sylvie tried to settle her mind. It was better to know. 

Mouch found her there, her head in her hands, a few minutes later. 

“Sylvie?”

She tried to smile. “Hey, Mouch.”

He regarded her, tilting his head, “do you need to talk or do you need chocolate?”

“Chocolate.” She replied. “Definitely Chocolate.”

Mouch pulled a bar of chocolate from his locker, and joined her on the bench, offering her half. She thanked him for the generous offer, and broke off a corner. 

“You hardly come to Molly’s anymore.”

“What can I say? These days I’m in a wine on the couch kind of headspace.”

“I’ll keep a spot for you, just in case.”

Sylvie hugged Mouch impulsively, catching him off guard. He barely managed to pat her back before she was pulling back. “Thank you. For the chocolate and the spot.”

“Anytime, Sylvie.”

-

“Hey, Brett,” Ritter called, “there’s a guy on the apron looking for you.” 

Sylvie looked up from her lunch, sandwich halfway to her mouth. “Who is it?”

“I don’t know, tall, dark and ruggedly handsome.”

Pushing back her chair, Sylvie made her way from the common room, distinctly aware that everyone was watching her. Mackey gave her a quick once over, nodding that she was presentable. As soon as she was by the radio tower, Sylvie knew who it was.

Eric Whaley, his dark green truck with his business name on the side was parked just a little down the street. He was holding a teal scarf in one hand, and nodding at something Severide was saying to him. When Sylvie pushed open the side door, he grinned at her, ignoring the rest of Severide’s conversation. 

“Hey!” His voice was loud, and Sylvie found herself shaking her head at him. 

“Hey yourself.” They stood in an awkward little triangle. 

“I brought some dessert for the house.” Eric pointed back to his truck, “got a free hand Kelly?”

They moved towards his truck, Severide asking questions about his work as an electrician. “It’s not what I love, but after my accident, they packaged me out, and now here I am.”

“Making lemonade.” Sylvie added. 

Eric was grinning at her. “Something like that. Here, your scarf.” Quickly he looped the teal fabric around her neck, sending her a wink. This startled a laugh from Sylvie, who leaned against the side of the truck, while Eric pulled out boxes of donuts. 

“Whaley.” Casey nodded from the sidewalk. 

“Hey, Case. Can you handle a box?”

Casey held out his arms, and Eric handed over two boxes, giving two more to Severide. 

Casey cleared his throat, “what brings you out here?”

“Work.” Eric replied, closing the door. He glanced over at Sylvie, that same grin on his face. “And returning Sylvie’s scarf.”

“I was going to see Olivia at the gym tomorrow.”

“Brian brought it to the job site. But, I decided on donuts.”

Casey looked between the two of them, Sylvie purposefully looked down. “How’s retirement?”

“Boring. But the hours don’t suck. Who knew that an actual sleep schedule would make life easier.” Eric leaned back agonist his truck, crossing his arms over his chest. “How life here? Your wife?”

Sylvie bit her lip, her head snapping back up. She hadn’t discussed anything about Casey with Whaley. The one time they had seen each other, she had simply said that she was taking a break from dating. 

“Divorced.” Casey tilted his head to Sylvie. “Two years now.”

“Sucks.” Eric offered. He looked over at Sylvie, she sent him a tight smile, pulling on her scarf. “Are you registered for the 3pm class tomorrow.”

“Yeah. I’m teaching actually. With the small class sizes, Olivia is having some extra people teach just to fit in the requests she’s getting.” Sylvie pulled a face. “It will be my first class.”

“I’m one of the riders.”

“Oh? So, like no pressure. You just squeezing it in between triathlons?”

Behind them the bells rang out, only Engine was called, but all four of them tensed for a moment. 

“I’ll let you get back to work.” Eric said. 

Severide saluted him, raising the donut box up, “thanks for dessert.”

Eric rounded his truck, Sylvie following Casey and Severide up the apron. 

“See you tomorrow, Sylvie!”

She turned around and waved, watched his truck pull off the curb before heading back to the kitchen, and her sandwich. Gallo and Tony were arguing over apple fritters when she took her seat. “Save me the cinnamon twist!” Sylvie asked, pushing her plate towards the pink box. 

Casey reached around Mouch and plucked the cinnamon twist out of the box, placing it on her plate. 

“Thanks.” Sylvie almost smiled at him, but it felt a bit like a grimace. 

“You and Whaley.” It was a statement. Not a question, Casey was looking at her, his jaw tight, eyes unreadable. 

Sylvie shook her head. “No.” She thought about what she wanted to say, but decided that was she needed to. Casey didn’t deserve an explanation from her. Not about this. 

He blinked. She could tell he expected more. Sylvie picked up her plate and walked out of the common room, she felt Casey’s eyes on her as she left. 

-

Here’s the thing. She is definitely NOT dating Eric Whaley. And she for sure told him that as they were leaving Olivia’s, but she had exchanged numbers with him, and she had responded to his text messages. She hasn’t said a word about Casey, to anyone other what she has hinted at to Stella and said explicitly to Olivia. She doesn’t plan to. 

But, Eric is funny and sharp. He understands her schedule. 

During her first spin class as an instructor, he makes it fun, engages with her, the other riders and the music. It’s simple with him. She knows he is flirting, and she can flirt back, but she also knows that they live very different lives. Sylvie is also very aware that her heart is bruised. Where her head and heart are currently at mean she is not in a headspace to date. 

Not with the memory of Matt Casey kissing her neck. Or the way his smile felt pressed against her own. Not when she know how comfortable and safe she feels with him. 

Felt with him. 

Because, ever since she thanked him for his honesty and asked him to leave her apartment, she doesn’t really feel comfortable with him. It’s not butterflies or the hum of possibility, it’s a leaden pit in her stomach. An ache behind her ribs. She still knows she is safe with him, but that desire for comfort, for companionship is, well, it is still there, but it’s complicated now. Tainted. 

Because of the kiss, and the conversation that followed, Sylvie’s life has changed in several small but important ways. 

She doesn’t arrive to work so early anymore. She leaves once her paperwork is in order. She avoids Molly’s. Doesn’t seek refuge in Casey’s quarters. Spends more time in the Ambo, reviewing processes and procedures with Mackey. Sylvie is focussing on being a great teacher, a strong leader. Sometimes she can almost believe that she doesn’t miss it. Doesn’t miss him. 

Her focus is on not disrupting her place of work. 

Her days off pick up a new structure. Small spin classes at the studio. Eric convinced her to take up running, and Sylvie is surprised at how she likes the pull of her calves on crisp winter mornings. He helps her make a running plan, and offers tips, jokes about how come spring they can train in swimming to and do a triathlon. It’s a goal. 

On days off Sylvie tries to make her apartment feel more like home. She avoids the couch. But relishes in her lemon wallpapered kitchen, and the simple ways this place is just hers. 

It’s been a month since Casey left her apartment. One whole month, and she has made the playlist, eaten the chocolate, done the retail therapy. The last thing on the break up list, number 4, is waiting on scheduling. 

4 - go see someone you love. 

Scott is taking off time right before Christmas to enjoy Amelia’s first Christmas. Indiana is out of the question, but Sylvie makes plans to go to Rockford. If she leaves right after shift on December 23rd, and comes back late on the 24th, her Christmas Day shift won’t be so bad. 

It’s just that on the 20th of December some asshole ignores the four way just down the street from her apartment, and hits her car. 

She’s fine. Physically she is fine. But the patrol officer who responds knows Platt is married to someone Sylvie works with and it kind of snowballs from there. By the time the tow truck is hauling her car away, Sylvie is leaning against the patrol car when Stella pulls up. She expected that, she’d been the one to call Stella. But, she definitely didn’t call Casey, yet there he is, in the passenger seat. 

He’s got that panicked look on his face. The one she remembers from the day the Ambo went over the ledge. 

Once again Stella isn’t even at a full stop, and he is out of the car, and jogging towards her. 

“I’m fine!” She preemptively calls out, holding out a hand to keep space between them. “Totally fine. He clipped my passenger side bumper, but it looks like he bent the axel.”

“Was be drunk? Did he lose control?” Casey is getting closer, ignores her hand and touches her face, tilting it up to look at him. 

It’s the first time they’ve touched in a month. 

Casey then does something that is simultaneously a great relief, and incredibly painful; he sinks a hand into the hair at the back of her neck. The contact makes Sylvie want to cry a little. Makes her want to lean into him. But, she can’t. Instead she turns her head and moves away. 

The look on Casey’s face doesn’t make sense to her. He’s hurt. He’s relieved. He’s angry. He’s scared. 

A little voice in her head reminds her, ‘he’s not yours.’

Kidd folds her up in a hug. Sylvie unabashedly clings to Stella for a long moment, relieved at the contact, grateful for the distraction. Over Stella’s should she watches as Matt talks to the patrol officer, she sees his anger when he learns the guy who hit her was texting. 

The tow truck is turning the corner when Sylvie realizes that she now has no way to get to Rockford. It’s that. That, on top of the flaming pile of crap that 2020 has been, makes her start to cry. Kidd hugs her again, Sylvie feels Casey’s hand on her hip, he’s right there beside her. If this was a month ago, he would have been the person she called. 

If this had been a month ago, she would wrapped up in his embrace right now. 

Embarrassed and disheartened, Sylvie tries to pull herself together. 

“I was really looking forward to Rockford, and seeing Amelia.”

“Were you headed there now?” Casey is asking her, and, look, Sylvie has spent a whole month putting distance between them, and somehow he is still here. 

Shaking her head, she replies, “after next shift, so I could be there for Christmas Eve.”

Matt makes a sound, but before Sylvie can ask, he’s ushering her and Stella towards the SUV. “Let’s get out of the snow.”

-

“I could drive you.”

Sylvie looked up from her paperwork and met Matt’s earnest gaze. She was sitting in the cool bumper of 61, tapping away on the tablet, filing a report. “Pardon?”

“I could drive you to Rockford.”

Oh. Shaking her head, Sylvie looked back at her paperwork. “Thanks, but with the surge in cases, I’ve already decided not to go.” He doesn’t move. She can just make out the tip of his boots beyond her tablet. “Thanks.”

Casey is still not moving, reluctantly Sylvie glances up. He’s staring at her. His blue eyes looking a little pained, his face drawn together. 

“I’m sorry.” 

She nods. What else can she do? He’s sorry, she’s sorry, that doesn’t necessarily change anything. 

Matt steps closer, she feels the fabric of his pants catch a little against hers. “I miss you.”

Her throat feels tight, itchy, like if she opens her mouth a croak might emerge. Sylvie doesn’t want to nod again, just holds his gaze, remembers how much his friendship meant to her. 

“I called Gabby.” 

She wasn’t expecting that, the words catch her off guard, Sylvie feels a pulse of panic in her chest. He called Gabby. “Oh.”

Matt lets out this breath of air, sends her a relieved look. All at once Sylvie realizes that she doesn’t want this, doesn’t want to have to sit here and listen to him talk about Gabby. That’s his ex-wife. Her former ambo partner. It will literally break her heart if she had to listen to him tell her about them getting back together. 

“Stop!” The word has more force than she intended, Sylvie winces when it bounces of the rigs and walls. She lowers her voice. “I don’t want to hear this.”

Matt looks confused. 

“I am your friend, I will always be your friend, but I have no interest in hearing about you and Gabby. Like, ever.” Sylvie stands up, steps off the bumper, gathering her things as she speaks, “why would I want to hear about that?” 

When she turned to head out the doors, Sylvie was surprised to see the audience. Severide, Kidd and Mouch were all standing there, frozen, blinking at her. 

-

For once, luck was on her side, because Sylvie was able to avoid the rest of the house for the remainder of her shift. They were busy, lots of calls, and she made a point of taking her dinner to the blue office to eat. When not on call she angrily texted Olivia, sent memes to Emily and replied to Eric’s breakfast invitation. 

In truth he had offered first. To drive her to Rockford, and that made Sylvie see what a bad idea it was. How not safe it was. She had declined the offer, called Scott and then cried in her room. She just wanted something nice, just once this year, just one little bit of happy. 

When shift ended Sylvie skirted the others, smiling apologetically at Mouch as she brushed out of the locker room. 

“Sylvie!” He called, she turned back, bag over her shoulder, muscles tense, “do you wanna come for dinner with me and Trudy?”

This made her want to cry. For once not out of frustration, but out of a weird happiness. This was a good thing. Friends like Mouch. Over his shoulder she saw Kidd watching her, and Sylvie added her to the list. Friends like Stella. 

“Yes, Mouch. I’d love that.”

He nodded. That familiar Mouch nod, and Sylvie turned to leave, Matt was waiting behind her. Sylvie barely managed to avoid crashing into his chest. 

“Do you need a ride?”

Why couldn’t he just leave her alone? This selfless, helpful, endearing, wonderful-ness was painful for her; couldn’t he see that? Didn’t he know what it was doing to her? What the last month had been like. It felt like she was walking around with her chest split open, her whole heart out on display. 

“No, Casey, I’m fine. Eric is picking me up for breakfast.”

Now Matt was looking at her in a way she didn’t really know what was the meaning of. His shoulders slumped, mouth turning down at the corners, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets. He shifted his shoulders. 

“Okay.”

Sylvie fought the absurd desire to bob a curtesy, waved at the rest of the locker room occupants, told Mouch she’d see him later and left. Eric was idling his truck just to the left of the apron. 

-

Eric took her to one of her favourite breakfast places, it was where her and Stella would order hangover food from after dancing. They ordered more food than they would need and ate it in the cab of his truck facing the lakefront. It was easy. 

They swapped bites of hash browns and creamy oatmeal full of fruit and nuts. Sylvie refused to share her breakfast sandwich, because Covid, but also she was not ever going to share this bagel and bacon combo. Eric laughed at her antics, grinning in an entirely intimidating way. 

“So, are you rebounding, or ready for a relationship?”

Sylvie choked a little on her coffee. “Pardon?”

Eric laughed. “I’m just trying to suss out the situation. Because, I’m past the rebound stage, and want a partner.”

“Partner?” Sylvie wasn’t sure why that came out as a question. Eric didn’t seem to mind, continuing his talk. 

“I know what I want. I want a partner, and I want kids. And I want someone who wants the same things.”

“I have to admit,” Sylvie blushed, “I find it insanely attractive that you laid it all out there.”

It was Eric’s turn to blush a little. 

Sylvie played with the sleeve on her coffee cup, “but, I need a minute to think this through. Not,” she clarified, “that I don’t know what I want, because I do. I want a partner, and kids, and a dog hopefully. I really want Covid to get under control, and to figure out what to do with my car situation, but I do need a moment to think about where my heart and head are at.”

Eric nodded, Sylvie was gratified to see he was smiling a little. “I can do that.” He turned the engine of his truck, eyes still on Sylvie. “I’m starting a big job in Evanston right after the New Year, so I’m fine with putting a pin in things until that’s done.”

Surprisingly Sylvie felt comfortable, talking things through like this was something she always wanted in a partner. Something neither Harrison, or Antonio, or God bless him, even Kyle had never really ever been able to do. “I really appreciate it.”

“Let’s get you home, I know what the end of a rough shift looks like. Greasy food and power naps.”

-

Mouch had texted her a time for dinner before she had even arrived home from breakfast. Sylvie set an alarm, hopped in the shower, then collapsed into her bed. When her alarm went off she mixed together a cake, put it the oven, washed and dried her hair, removed the cake to cool. Finishing mixing an icing together her phone rang, Stella. 

“Hey!” 

“You sound chipper.” Which made Stella just a little suspicious. 

“I think I’m ready to move on.”

Silence. 

Stella sighed. “From Casey?”

“From the idea I had in my head about how things were.”

“It wasn’t in your head!”

Sylvie put down her spatula. “I think it was.”

“It wasn’t.”

“He never felt the same way for me. And that’s okay.” It really wasn’t, but Sylvie felt a little of the old fake it until you make it glibness settle on her. “I just like, obviously, transferred my weird issues into like, a fake intimacy. And I forced something that I should have left alone.”

“You didn’t see him,” Stella protested, “when the Ambo crashed. Or when Kyle proposed, or how he was with you at Cruz’s wedding.”

“He was just being a friend.”

This time, Stella groaned, “listen, Kelly’s your friend, and if he was looking at you like that, we’d have a problem.”

Sylvie held her voice steady, “I asked him.”

“What?” Stella went deathly silent. 

“I asked him about Gabby, and he said he didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know what?”

Sitting down at the table, Sylvie used a nail to pick at the edge. “What he would do if she showed up.”

“Son of a bitch!”

Weirdly, this made Sylvie heart lift a little. “I just,” she stopped for a moment, “I’m not interested in something if the other person doesn’t know how they feel about me.”

“Girl.” Stella sounded resigned. 

“He told me he called Gabby.”

“No!”

“So, I’m moving on.”

“With Eric Whaley?”

Sylvie consider this, it wasn’t really about Eric or Matt, it was about her. “No. I’m moving on with myself. And maybe Eric Whaley’s along for the ride.”

When she hung up the phone Sylvie felt slightly better, she finished icing the cake, wrapped it up and dressed for dinner. Mouch only lived a few blocks away, easy walking from her apartment complex to his quaint stone front house. 

“Sylvie!” Trudy practically bellowed, “get in here!”

It felt weirdly normal. Sylvie watched Trudy call Mouch Randy, hold his hand, and listened as they talked. They were an unlikely pair, but Sylvie liked them better for it. She had just taken a bite of her cake when Trudy spoke again. 

“Do you want to tell us what’s bothering you?”

Sylvie looked up, Mouch was placidly eating his cake, Trudy was watching her intently. “That obvious?”

“This have something to do with Casey?” Both women turn and look at Mouch, who shrugs, takes an other bite. “I notice.”

“Yeah.” Sylvie confirms, putting down her fork. “It does.”

“Did he do something ungentlemanly?”

Shaking her head Sylvie struggles for words. “I think I misjudged some things he did for me, as feelings for me, and then when push came to shove,” here her voice wobbled a bit, “he wasn’t on the same page.”

Mouch leaned over the table a little, and pulled her hand towards him, patting the back of it twice. He rested his on the table, not quiet touching hers, but warm and reassuring beside it. “Matt is in love with you.”

Trudy was now the one placidly eating her cake, but she leaned back a little at this pronouncement, and looked between them. 

“Now, I know Casey isn’t the best with emotions. Isn’t good with laying it all out there, but I know what jumping from the truck means.”

Sylvie shook her head. “It doesn’t mean anything other than he has a saving people thing.”

“I’ve watched the Captain be in love before.”

“Yeah, Mouch,” Sylvie sighed, “me too.”

“I’m not just talking about Dawson. I knew him and Hallie too.” Mouch tilted his head to the side, “I knew Casey back when he was a wet behind the ears candidate. He’s grown a lot since then, his heart has changed too. He may not know how to say it, but he is in love with you. Sylvie, it’s different with you.”

“Sometimes you have to keep trying, if I hadn’t been willing to try, then I wouldn’t have found Randall.” Trudy took an other slice. 

“What if you’re wrong?”

Mouch patted her hand again, “hasn’t this year taught us to go for what we need?”

Later, once the dishes were cleared, the dishwasher loaded, Mouch drove her home. He waited at the curb until she was inside, and it gave Sylvie such a peculiar feeling of home that she didn’t feel quite so alone after all. 

-

On Tuesday morning there is a small blue mason jar with a succulent in it waiting for her in her locker. When she looks at the card, all it says, in simple, familiar, blocky lettering is: please talk to me, Matt. His gaze on her neck is like gentle pressure; warm and reassuring. Even after everything, Sylvie feels a little bubble of hope.

**Author's Note:**

> Please tell me how you feel!


End file.
